


Lessons Learned the Hard Way

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Humiliation kink, M/M, Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Voyeurism, dick stepping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: McCree should probably learn to keep his goddamn trap shut, honestly. But lessons only take with him the hard way. And Blackwatch Commander Reyes, well, he's really good at the hard way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same verse as Thank God for Small Miracles but you don't have to read that for this to make sense. They're not even really related.

McCree grins. He can't help it. His teeth dig into his lower lip, lopsided, cocksure. "I mean really though," he says, thumbs in his belt loops, playing the part so, so well, "what exactly are you gonna do about it? Spank me, papi?"

Which is how McCree finds himself bent over Gabriel's knee, ass in the air, feet slipping against the tile of the locker room floor.

And Christ, Gabe's fucking thighs are like marble under his hips, his chest. Unyielding. Unbelievable. That flip-switch, aroused and scared, uncomfortable, confused happens, surging through McCree's skin. Buzzing like electricity behind his eyes. He has a moment, a breath, fingers brushing against the rough material of Gabriel Reyes' training uniform.

And then it happens.

Little fanfare to it, considering what McCree is expecting. Very little lead up. Gabriel's palm cracking across McCree's ass, a stinging blow even through the cloth of McCree's pants. McCree squawks, indignant, protesting now. Laying across Gabe's lap, it still could have been a joke. He had meant it as a joke.

The hand comes down again, twice now, quick succession. No joke in it. McCree grabs at Gabriel's shins, tries to wiggle away. A firm hand at the small of his back keeps him in place as another smack claps against his ass. McCree ducks his head against Gabe's pants, bites his lip. Tears at the corner of his eyes. Shameful arousal curling in his stomach.

"Reyes," he says, between blow four and blow five, voice shaking, "please..." He's lost his bravado, it's hard to maintain when that hand is spanking him like a naughty child. Papi. His grip on Gabriel's shin tightens, material between his fingers, eyes squeezing shut.

"Didn't you want this," Gabe asks, calm and condescending. Smack. Smack. "Been looking for a punishment since you joined," smack, "right, kid?"

McCree shakes his head, feebly, sob escaping his lips. Torn from them. He can feel himself getting hard, cock rubbing against Gabe's leg, interested in the pain and the intimacy and the implications. Fucked up.

"I ain't," McCree starts, cut off by another flurry of spanks, voice tapering into a shudder, mouth open against Gabe's thigh.

"Mentiroso."

McCree doesn't need to understand Spanish to hear the smirk in it. Gabe's hand pauses in its ministrations, the one holding his hips releases just slightly.

Room to run.

McCree shudders again, shoulders bunching around his ears which are burning with the humiliation of this whole ordeal. A decision needs to be made. McCree steadies his feet, boots squeaking along the tile, lifts some of his weight. Just enough to loosen his pants, push them off of his hips with finality. Ass in the air again, already red from the earlier strikes.

Above him, Gabriel chuckles.

"Good boy," he says. "Very good boy."

And the praise, condescending and awful as it is, strokes along McCree's ego just right. Flutters behind his rib cage. His cock, fully hard now, undeniable, chafes uncomfortably against Gabe's pants, but he doesn't move to adjust it. He's sitting on the edge of an internal precipice, staring down the cliff-face of this thing he's never admitted to himself he has wanted.

"Fuck," he mutters, lips chafing just as roughly against Gabe's leg as his cock is. He expects the same harsh sudden blows as before, tenses up at the first feather-light touch of Gabe's hand against him. Skin to skin. His hips twitch at the though, a spasm of pure arousal along his spine. But Gabriel doesn't hit him. Not at first. Just draws his fingers along McCree's flesh, cupping a cheek, petting at the skin of his lower back.

Gabriel would do something like this. Turn the tables now when McCree has all but gone and admitted it.

"Come on," he says, hips moving, pressing and lifting, thrusting his ass into Gabriel's calloused palm. "Come on, Reyes, please. Please."

Gabriel's answering chuckle is a rumble against McCree's side. "Impatient for it now?" He asks, bringing his hand up, bringing his hand down. A parody of a smack, no power behind it at all. Barely any thing. "Little cowboy can't make up his mind. Is that right?" He completes the circuit again, up and down, a soft pinch to McCree's red flesh on the landing. "You sound good though, begging. Tell me again. What am I gonna do about it?"

McCree swallows. He is panting, can't help it. His breath edges between his teeth, harsh and foreign. "Punish me." He says, whispers. Shame-faced.

He's rewarded with another smack, slightly harder this time. He jerks at the contact, fingers twitching on Gabriel's combat boot.

"How?" Gabriel asks.

"Spank me," McCree whispers, swallowing again, convulsively. Something in his throat clicks with each desperate intake of air. "Please," he says, "spank me, papi."

And that's what does it, sets Gabe back to the pace he'd had before. The roughness. The first smack makes a sound like a gunshot, has McCree bucking against Gabriel's knee. Too much sensation. Pain and pleasure all muddled up together. Gabriel spanks him, quick, sharp little slaps, and McCree can't help but groan. Draw in ragged breath after breath through his nose only to let it whine and hiss back out past his teeth.

He's muttering curses against Gabriel's knee, ass raw from the abuse already. But Gabriel is praising him through it, grunting with the effort as his strikes gain more power, hushed little endearments between each one.

"Good boy."

"Perfecto."

"Beautiful little slut."

"Sí, niñito. Bueno."

McCree doesn't understand the words, can't translate the ones he can hear, brain too scrambled with all the mixed messages his body is sending him. His ass is throbbing, sharp, stinging madness. His cock is throbbing too, swollen, a constant undercurrent of pulsing need.

He writhes on Gabe's lap, tries worming a hand between his cock and Gabe's leg but Gabriel catches his hand before he can. Pins it behind his back.

"Wouldn't learn your lesson," Gabriel says, huffing, extending his arm the whole way before bringing it back down with a resounding smack, "if you enjoyed this too much. What is it you're gonna do?" He asks.

McCree honestly cannot remember. Shakes his head. What started this. Something. Cocky. Sassy. It was a joke, but that wasn't the beginning. "I need'ta...," he stutters, loses the thought as Gabe hits him twice more, barely a breath between each. "Need'ta follow orders."

Gabriel is hard too, McCree can feel the press of Gabe's big dick against his stomach as he wriggles. The next blow is lighter, maddeningly so. Keeping the old sting from dulling the new. McCree sobs.

"Wrong answer, vaquero."

"I need..." Your cock. Your approval. Christ, McCree thinks, I need a fuckin' psyche eval. Stability for once. But those answers are beyond his ability to articulate. Are only vague sketches of words in his consciousness.

The hand lands light again, and this time Gabriel lets it lie. Drums his fingers on McCree's burning ass. Disapproval. Cutting disappointment.

"You need," Gabriel says, after a breath, "to be less reckless. I didn't pull you out of that prison to have you die in some personal glut for glory." His hand moves suddenly, a lightning-quick strike against McCree's cheeks. Gabriel is speaking through his teeth. The game is over now, McCree has fucked it up. This is real anger again. Annoyance. "You need to understand: good soldiers, they die, but at least their worth a damn. Bad soldiers, the show-offs, the kids, the mouthy ones; they fucking die too. But they don't do anybody a lick of good before they kick it." Gabriel releases the arm he had pinned behind McCree's back. "You need to become a good soldier. And you need to do it quick. 'Cuz I'm just about done caring, kid. One more fuck up like today, and they can send you back to the shit hole I picked you up in."

And without another word, Gabriel stands, dumping McCree onto the floor. McCree lands on his side, bangs an elbow hard against the tile, hip taking most of his weight. He hisses with the impact, looks over at Gabe expectantly, but Gabriel ignores him. Is already heading for the door.

McCree sits where he has fallen, pants still around his knees, still aroused, still confused about it. Ego bruised. Wounded pride. He clenches his hand against his knee. Forces himself to standing. Lesson learned.

\--

Or maybe not.

\--

Four weeks and two more awkward, tense encounters later and McCree is starting to rethink that sentiment.

He dabs at his lip, bleeding freely down his chin, blood tacky between his fingers. Gabriel's training, always harsh, has gotten downright brutal.

He presses his back against the wall, smoke and noise and blast damage all around. And McCree knows it's just a simulation, he knows it is, but the bullets still bite and sting.

His lip, throbbing and dripping. Slow reaction time. Reyes' elbow catching him across the face in the initial skirmish that started this off.

He feels restless. The pain makes him feel like he's lifting out of his skin.

He pokes his head around the corner.

"McCree," Filimore hisses. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, tight and slicked back on her scalp. It makes her face look pulled, rat-like. "We're waiting."

McCree rolls his eyes. "It's clear though." And it's only training. Even with the bullet sting, the busted lip, it's so easy to forget. To let himself have the bravado.

Because he's Jesse McCree and bravado is really, all he's got going for him.

He ducks from behind the cover, moves fast and low across the littered, battle-ravaged ground.

The blow, when it comes, is entirely unexpected.

More than just jarring.

Painful. Rending. Phantom bullets from an unseen assailant, hidden behind cover the other Blackwatch agents had yet to clear.

McCree feels each blow like it's the end of the world.

He lays, gasping on the ground as the simulation around him falters, fades. Bright, searing light. McCree closes his eyes.

When he opens them, Gabriel is looking down at him. The other agents, scowling, sweaty stand a little ways off. Reyes' boots, dark leather, shine in the harsh medical lighting.

"So," Gabriel says, almost nonchalant, "now you're dead, kid. How's it feel? Good?"

Only a few of the others are watching. Dune, Irving. Filimore is checking her rifle. Martinez is studying the ceiling.

"No, sir," McCree says. It's tiny. A confession. Two more incidents, more fulfilling than the first, McCree on his knees with Gabe's dick in his mouth. Learning to take direction.

Now is not exactly the appropriate time to be thinking of it.

McCree's breathing speeds up, just the tiniest bit.

Gabriel pushes the toe of his boot against McCree's chin. Just enough pressure to force McCree to turn his chin. "Tagged in the jaw," Reyes says. The boot drags lower, insole rubbing roughly over McCree's shoulder, down his chest. "Tagged in the lungs. Bullet to the ribs." His boot presses tighter into McCree's belly, the craggy slope of it, all muscle and bone.

Reyes' cock, thick and full and choking him. Sweat smell and musk and the salty sting of come.

McCree swallows, convulsively. The boot heel scrapes the waistline of his pants, his shirt rucking up slightly. Lower. Tucked against McCree's more than somewhat interested cock.

"Femoral artery nicked," Gabe says. His eyes flickering up and down McCree's prone form. "So you're bleeding out, and choking on your own blood, and it's a slow fucking death," he says. He glances up, hawk-like, eyes darting over the others. "And there's not a thing any of them can do about it, except watch you fucking expire."

He presses down as he says it, for emphasis. Enough pressure to pinch and bruise, right there, along the upper inside of his thigh.

McCree, thinking of Gabriel's cock and Gabriel's hands and Gabriel's teeth, groans.

Guttural and drawing and loud enough to be heard by everyone.

Reyes' eyes go wide. A deer in headlights, a bull moose.

McCree, under his boot, has gone scarlet. His hips twitch, involuntarily. Half-aborted motions. McCree's hands scrabble and grip at the smooth floor below him.

Those who had been watching no longer are. Every set of eyes has found more interesting purchase elsewhere.

McCree tries to say something. Anything. Fucking yes sir. Fucking sorry.

He can't.

His throat works over another low sound, a grating, grinding noise of humiliation and want. He bites his tongue so hard the coppery taste of blood leeches into his mouth. His lips throb, pressed so tightly together.

"Get out," Gabe says. His voice is deadpan. Dangerously flat. He's breathing through his nose, his nostrils flare with every ragged in-drawn breath.

The others shuffle, unsure.

McCree is still pinned like a beetle under Reyes' weight.

Gabriel's tone shifts, the boot grinding as he twists his torso around to yell at the other soldiers.

"Out," he yells. His face is suffused with red. McCree's torturous mind compares the blush to the one Reyes gets on his cock. McCree's trapped, horrifying arousal gives another stab. Coiling and shameful in his gut.

The others do not hesitate longer than that. They snap to attention and flee.

Leaving only McCree, and his muted, small moaning.

Leaving only Gabriel, his harsh and panting breaths.

They are not looking at one another.

Maybe it's better that way.

"Fuckin' hell, kid," Reyes says. He swallows, McCree can hear the wet sound of his throat working.

McCree squeeze his eyes shut. His face is too warm, burning up. "'M sorry," he says. He can't muster his usual cheek. Everything in him has fled, squished out by Reyes stepping on his cock.

"Commander Reyes, Gabe...I'm--"

The boot presses down, McCree cuts off with a drawn out keen. Hips flexing against his will. Pain blossoms along his cock, his spine, his shoulders.

"Shut up," Reyes says. "Just shut up, Jesse."

He never calls him Jesse.

He never calls him anything but nicknames and insults.

McCree looks up at him.

In the white, blatant lighting, Gabriel Reyes could almost be an angel. Long-suffering. Earthbound. There is a tick in his jaw, the scarred skin jumps as his teeth grind together. He is focusing on the far wall. His eyes are dark and hooded and endlessly angry.

"Commander...I. It's not. Please." McCree is babbling. He cannot stop himself.

"I said, shut up." Gabriel's gaze snaps down to him. There is something in the depths there, something wounded.

McCree has seen shades of it before. A certain fondness when Gabriel holds his head, his dick wet and full between McCree's lips. A soft, shivering, well-concealed weakness.

McCree's stomach contracts as Gabe lifts his foot. A heated clenching in his belly.

"Take it out," Gabe says. "Let me see it."

McCree swallows. He sits up. The floor of the training room is cool, merciful tile beneath his sweating hands.

"Commander," he says. "There're cameras."

"I don't fucking care," Gabriel says. "Take it out. Rub yourself off. I won't do it for you."

McCree makes a sound, whispered and animal in his throat. His knees squeeze together. His cock aches. He's debauched and he's completely fucked up, but he isn't looking to get Reyes in trouble. He doesn't want to get kicked out of Blackwatch for indecent exposure.

Reyes seems to take pity on him, his expression softens just slightly. "I'm the only one who watches the feed in here, kid. It's just me."

McCree's breath catches over a shudder. His hands, clammy, shaking, undo his belt. The sound of the buckle, striking hard against the floor, echoes. And echoes.

And echoes.

McCree's cock.

Gabriel has never touched or asked to see it before. Their encounters have never been about that. No mutual satisfied end. Reyes has honestly seemed rather aloof and disinterested when it comes to McCree's dick.

Now though.

"Jeeze," Gabe says, "look at you. Already so hard. Are you leaking?"

McCree looks up, pushes his hips up in offer. Reyes' lip raises, smooth, unfeigned disgust.

"I'm not gonna touch it, I told you that. Show me the way you stroke it, dumb ass, show me what you do in the showers when you're thinking of me."

McCree whines, his breath whistles through his nose. Reedy. He grips his cock, standing proud and hard, framed by the open plackets of his pants. He doesn't even bother starting off slow, it doesn't even matter that the drag of his palm is too dry and too rough.

He keeps eye contact with Reyes and he throws himself into it. He's moaning and panting, cursing under his breath. It's not for show, he's just about this messy in the showers too.

Thinking about Gabe's dick or Gabe's voice.

Gabe calling him useless. Or weak. Stupid.

McCree is blushing again. His eyes flutter shut. "Talk to me, Reyes, please."

"What was that?"

"It's--it's better when you," McCree's voice catches, trips an octave. Like fucking puberty all over again. He squeezes harder, almost too tight, simulating Gabe's weight, pinning his cock to his thigh.

"You want me to tell you what a whore you are?"

The word whore does it. McCree spreads his legs, his boots scrape ungainly against the tile. He feels bulky, like he could burst from his skin.

"Yeah," he whispers, moaning just a little bit. "Please, papi."

Gabe's eyes darken. "Papi," he echoes, sneering.

McCree's cock is an angry shade of red, leaking profusely now. McCree shudders.

"You would have some fucked up kink like that," Gabe continues. He crosses his arms. His tongue traces the edge of his teeth, McCree can see the flashes of it. "You want daddy to fuck you, is that it? Is that why you're such a shameless slut? You didn't even care that the others were watching you get your dick stepped on, did you? Maybe that made it better, huh, little cowboy?"

Gabe takes a breath.

His eyes are narrowed. "Maybe I shouldn't have even made them leave."

McCree doesn't bother to stifle the groan that rips through him. The other Blackwatch agents watching, looking away, embarrassed and ashamed for him. Christ, the absolute disgust in their eyes.

"Or maybe I can do you one better and actually make them watch you choke on my cock. Utterly debase you," Gabe says. His tone is detached, clinical. "Would you like that?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ, Reyes," McCree gasps. He can't seem to pull enough air into his lungs, panting. Out of breath. His wrist snaps, jerky, uneven strokes on his cock. His face is hot, he is sweating.

"You're an embarrassment," Gabriel says.

It hits the place McCree needs. He chokes out a broken little sob. He's so close he can practically taste it.

"Disgusting," Gabe remarks.

"Inmundo."

"You're like an animal. A thing. I could make you suck me off in front of Morrison and you'd probably fucking thank me afterwards wouldn't you?"

Morrison.

It takes a second for the name to click. McCree has never heard anyone call the Strike Commander by any name but his title.

He thinks of the Strike Commander's pretty blue eyes. Imagines them watching, maybe scandalized but unable to look away, turned on by McCree's shameless display. Disgusted by him and aroused and disgusted by that as well.

It's enough.

McCree pulls in a breath, open-mouthed, gaping and gasping like a fish, and he comes with a final roll of his hips.

He falls back with an arm thrown across his face. Squeezing his eyes shut as his dick pulses in his other hand. He shakes, muscles relaxing and straining convulsively. He has wrecked his uniform shirt, he doesn't need to see it to know. The cum settles the fabric against his skin, hot against his already too warm flesh.

And then he lays still.

The floor is cool beneath his knuckles. He presses his cheek against it. His breath fogs against the polished surface.

He lifts his arm. Runs his fingers through the sweaty mess of his hair.

Gabe is watching him. McCree cannot quite meet his gaze. He looks around him instead. Slightly to the left, the safety lights on wall just under Reyes' ear.

"Are you okay," Reyes asks, finally.

Obviously, this question must be a joke. Nothing about any of this has been okay. Even as into it as McCree is, he recognizes that fact.

So he makes it a joke. It's all he has.

"Thought I was dead," he says, sitting up. Grinning. Cheeky. "Bled out right?"

Gabriel's eyes narrow. He looks on the verge of another lecture. But then he deflates. Uncrosses his arms to scrub his hands down his cheeks.

His facial hair rasps against the material of his gloves. The only sound in the room.

"Commander, should I--"

Gabe holds a hand out to silence him. His fingers are shaking slightly. McCree doesn't know if anyone else would pick up on these small displays of weakness.

"Just--just go," he says. He shuts his eyes. The frown has settled naturally across his face. "Clean yourself up and hit the showers. I don't want to see your face until tomorrow, little dead boy. And tomorrow," he shakes his head, "tomorrow you had better be prepared. No more bullshit, Jesse."

He doesn't even sound angry this time. Just weary. Old. McCree watches as he turns, as he leaves.

He glances up at the camera dome as he tucks his dick away. The smooth, unreadable surface of it. A fresh wave of humiliation surfaces. McCree blushes, pulls himself upright.

Another lesson learned, or something.

Maybe it'll take this time.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed. honestly this started as just a spanking drabble but like...I can't be succinct so I added a second part and now we have spanking and humiliation.
> 
> Anyway comments or if missed anything, just lemme know. I'm @vrunkas on tumblr if that's more your speed


End file.
